


First Night Angry

by Truthfully



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Gen, Sleeping in a car, angry, very angry Stan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-21
Updated: 2017-05-29
Packaged: 2018-07-25 21:53:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7548553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Truthfully/pseuds/Truthfully
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stan's first night in his car</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The night was hot, and sticky. He had stripped down to boxers, but there was no real way he could take off his skin. The windows were down but that didn’t help. Not with how still the air was. Like the night was trying to suffocate him. His room would have been the exact same, maybe worse. But…

Instead of thinking he rolled over, grunting at the feel of the leather seat pulling at him. All of this worrying wasn’t like him. He had shit to do come morning. A job, millions of dollars to get. Because a stupid machine broke.

It was easier to be angry. Anger he could deal with, he had his whole life. He knew just how to work with it, how to keep it somewhat tame.

Sappy lonely tear-filled sadness was a whole other ballgame. A feeling he refused to bog himself down with. So he got himself mad.

It wasn’t hard.

He fumed about his brother, pulling every little bit of envy and frustration. All of it that he could remember and used it to fuel him. Then he banked it with the last memory of that no good two timing brother. After all of their lives together through thick and thin he turned on him just like that? Over an honest fucking mistake?

He sat up and punched his dash, reveling in the pain that seeped into his skin. The hit had forced his glove box open, and one of his brothers numerous notebooks fell out. The sight of it only made him even madder. Grabbing it he started to rip out of the pages Stanford had written on. Fighting to get his window open left him cursing as he tore them to shreds and tossed the pieces out into the still air.

Planning he had to plan, there was a ton of work to do as he grabbed a pencil and set it on one of the few pages left.

He would show them. He would show them all. He would get those millions and he would be more of a man then both of them together. Stanley Pines was going to end as the better man. Even if it took him years to do it.


	2. A Step Down the Road

The place was dirty, in that lived in kind of way. Most of the guys were what he’d expect in a boxing ring, what with the smells and looks of their ugly mugs. The smell of grease was enough to knock a man on his ass too, but under that was the aroma of food. And God, he needed something to eat.

Sheer stubbornness wasn’t doing anything in the face of hunger. So despite his determination he eventually gave in and went to get something to eat. The place wasn’t his usual haunt. Far from any of them actually, but once upon a time his father had mentioned it and the name had stuck.

Eating take out cost money, but he had never learned how to cook so between that and starving, he didn’t have much choice. Plus, it was on the way out of town. Stanley could swing it. Would swing it. Besides, eating out was one of the few times he was surrounded by people.

He couldn’t understand that either. How could a person be in a crowd and still feel lonely? He hated but craved attention. That he knew and didn’t understand. Well, he only had been the disowned son of the Pines family for about a week, so what did he know?

“Your burger.” The plate was dropped unceremoniously in front of him. Normally he would have been leery of the food, specially since it had been spawned in a place like this, but without question he dug in. He was quick but efficient, downing the burger and all but snuffing the fries down his throat.

It had only taken him a few minutes then another two for him to finish off the coffee. For all that he had wanted company he also didn’t, not really. So he reached for his wallet and started to pull out money to cover his food. Mentally he tallied the bills, grumbling as he realized there was no way in hell he was going to be able to fill up his car’s gas tank. Then he stopped.

What the hell was he doing?

He wasn’t even a week out of that goddamn house and he was already scraping the bottom of the barrel. How the hell was he supposed to ‘make it’? Why was he unable to do anything but fail? He’d tried the honest way and at this rate he was going to have to go back on his knees begging.

However, he had his pride and the stubborn tenacity of his father. He’d show them and he’d do it himself no matter how long it took. Or who had to take the fall for it. Because while he didn’t make a habit of lying he was pretty goddamn good at it.

Looking up he noticed the waitress was busy with a couple and their brat and the cook was trying to work on about a dozen orders. Stan didn’t know, but it would be the first step in a long downward spiral and even looking back later he’d never be able to point it out. But who cared? Not the poor schmucks and certainly not him. So he got up and walked out.


End file.
